Supernatural Taxes

3) I spit my tea on a Haworthia Retusa-Goddamn Latin!

It was Saturday morning, Atla had no classes today. She hung her washing in the house on a makeshift line where her kitchenette's blinds were supposed to be while listening to old rock music.

Her flat was one of five that were part of a converted military dorm which definitely hadn't seen a new coat of paint in Atla's lifetime. The flat contained a kitchenette and couch that fitted into one room, a bedroom and a bathroom. Her particular partitioned flat was at one end of the long building, giving her an extra window to catch the morning sun.

Atla pondered whether to take her textbooks out and muse over them while warming up. The building was large but single storied with a low roof that was perfect for basking in the sun.

An apologetic knock on the door thwarted that plan. Strange, she'd made sure to pay the rent early. Atla opened the door and greeted an oldish man with salted black hair, "Oh, Mr... Executor. Can I help you?"

His leathery skin stretched into a smile, "Adelard Basel," he resupplied, "Nice to meet you again Atalanta and please do not mind it, I'm aware that I don't make much of an impression. Could I enter?"

Atla almost reflexively agreed that he was unremarkable, but her mom's teachings about polite adult conversations caught her and let her lie through her teeth. "No, not at all, you just looked so different in casual clothes that I didn't recognise you. Please come in Mr. Basel. Oh and let me help you with those," She picked up one of the two cardboard boxes he'd laid at her doorstep.

"Would you like something to drink?"

"Black coffee please, if you don't mind" Adelard went to fetch his bags and a walking stick while Atla pulled a second stool to the other side of the kitchen counter so that they could face each other.

"How may I help you Mr. Basel," Atla brought the tea to her lips before remembering that it was still too hot.

"Just Adelard is fine, as you've probably guessed, I'm here to deliver your inheritance."

Atla picked up her tea, realised it was too hot, blew on it a few times before awkwardly putting it down, "Wow."

"What's the matter?"

"Oh sorry, I just didn't expect you to be so, committed; I guess is the word for it. Even after we ran off, I'm sorry for that by the way, my mother got quite stressed," meandered Atla.

"Hehaha," Adelard's eyes wrinkled, almost closing, "Do not worry about it, I am only honouring my late friend and repaying my debt to her, 'tis my own selfishness. Here is your grandmother's walking stick and in these two boxes are the records and storybooks that Ruth wanted you to have. Will you accept them?" he seemed much more comfortable with less people around.

"Yes of course sir, I'd be glad to; so you knew my gran?"

"Oh yes, since we were children actually..." He smiled wryly, no longer looking at Atla, "Ruth and the others took care of me..."

"Sounds tough," muttered Atla then quickly elaborated because she thought she might have been rude, "Sorry, I mean I don't know my gran as a very responsible person. Oh but I didn't actually know her so what do I know. Uh who were these, 'others' who took care of you too?" She changed the subject awkwardly.

Adelard chuckled and shook his head, "You don't have to be so polite, Ruth really was a riot. We were street children back during the war, I was one of the youngest in Ruth's gang, she let me in, but it was the other older children that actually looked after me.

She never became more responsible with age, I don't know how many times I've had to bail her out over the years, Ruth really was a force of nature..." He reminisced about it warmly.